


Crownsguard-Issued Badonkadonk

by jpo2107, Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Collab with Jill, Dirty Talk, Gladio wears booty shorts, Gratuitous Booty Shots, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, There is much thirsting, With awesome art!!, and Sexting, and flirting, brotherhood era, prompto is 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpo2107/pseuds/jpo2107, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: Prompto's always kinda...had a thing for Noct's Shield. Who wouldn't, honestly, with arms like pythons and thighs big enough to crush a Leiden watermelon for breakfast? But until now, he's managed to keep things under control. A distant crush, no big deal, right?Of course, the day he makes the mistake of checking Gladio out in his new Crownsguard shorts, everything changes.





	Crownsguard-Issued Badonkadonk

**Author's Note:**

> Our submission for Day 1 of the latest round of Promptio Week!!! :D I wrote the fic, and Jill ([check out their Tumblr here](https://jilldrawblog.tumblr.com/)) was awesome enough to create the fantastic art pieces! Hope you enjoy this collab as much as we did!

 

“Hey, so.” Noct stops just ahead of him, catching his attention with a glance thrown over his shoulder. “You mind if we swing by the Citadel real quick?

Prompto, one hand pushing his bike, the other tapping through another level of King’s Knight, merely shrugs. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?

“Nothing really. It’s just the new Crownsguard gear came in, and Gladio’s been hounding me all week to go pick up my stuff.” Though the prince feigns disinterest, his blue eyes watch Prompto close. "You remember Gladio, right?

The question manages to catch him off guard, and it’s all Prompto can do to keep from laughing aloud. _Remember him?_ With arms like pythons and eyes that could peel off every layer of his clothing with a glance? Yeah, of course Prompto remembers Gladio. But he isn’t sure he needs his best friend to know the details, so he half-asses another shrug and pretends to be engrossed in his game. “Sure, I guess. The guy with the tats, right?”

This time, Noct does laugh. “Yeah, that’s him. Let’s go. If we hurry, we can catch him on break.”

Prompto’s already lost the level he was playing, so he pockets his phone and pushes his bike after Noct. _It’s just the Citadel_ , he thinks. He’s been there a few times before, after all, tagging along with the prince, and Gladio’s already met him once. No big deal, he can totally do this.

* * *

 

_He totally can’t do this_.

Noct is striding into the dojo without so much as a knock to announce himself, smirking around as if he owns the place (he does). In contrast, Prompto hangs back, prefering to watch from the double doors while the Crownguard members finish up their training.

There are half a dozen of them, all young and powerful and dressed in the same dark blue-and-silver sweatshirts. When the Immortal Marshal shouts, they kick forward in unison. When he holds up his hand, they crouch into position. Highly trained, highly disciplined, and in the midst of them all, _Gladio._

Eyes dark, hair matted to him in sweat, he’s a picture of perfect form and control. He’s graceful, too, especially for his size, and Prompto finds himself unable - and unwilling - to tear his gaze away. Even after the training has ended, and they bow their respects to Leonis, he’s still leaning against the doorframe and chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s only Noct, with a grin and a wave from across the dojo, that finally breaks the spell.

Temporarily, anyway, because Gladio’s on his way over to the prince, too, pulling his sweatshirt up and over his head as he goes. Blue eyes widen, focus in on bronzed, sweat-slicked skin and the dark ink tracing over it, and feels his knees start to go weak beneath him.

“Thought I lost you in the crowd,” Noct smirks at his wobbling approach. “Gladio, you remember Prom, right?”

“Oh, yeah, hey.” A flash of white. Gladio’s eyes are on him, rich amber pools that size him up as he ties the sweatshirt around his chiseled waist. “You guys come all the way here just to admire the view?”

_Shit, he knows--!_

“In your dreams, meathead. I’m here to get my gear.” Thankfully, Gladio’s attention shifts to the prince instead, giving Prompto a chance to release the breath he’d been holding. The two talk for a moment, until at last Gladio gestures over to a side hall (Prompto assumes it leads to the locker room or something) and then Noct is nodding his head.

“Got it. Be right back, Prom,” he starts, ignoring the blond’s attempt at a protest like the absolute worst friend that he is. “Try to keep Gladio out of trouble.”

He jogs off, leaving Prompto alone with the unfairly hot - and _still very shirtless -_ shield.

“So.”

Prompto whirls around fast enough to give himself whiplash.

“You’re in Noct’s class, right? He talks about you a lot.”

“Oh.” _Don’t look at his pecs, don’t look at his pecs._ “Y-yeah. Uh, I guess I talk about him a lot, too.” _Really, Argentum? That was so stupid. Now he thinks you’re an idiot._

“Cool, cool. You a runner?”

“What?”

“A runner.” Gladio smiles patiently as he gestures to Prompto’s sneakers. They’re old and worn and practically held together by sheer willpower at this point, and suddenly he wishes he could sink right through the floor to hide his shame.

But Gladio’s still smiling, still watching him. “You’ve got the build for it, too. Light on your feet, aerodynamic, perfect for stealth.”

_Ae…aerodynamic?!_ Is that a jab at his hair? Subconsciously, Prompto reaches up to slick back the unruliest tufts of blond, and fixes his gaze to the far fall. “U-um, yeah, I run sometimes. To keep in shape...and stuff.”

_Gods_ , he hopes his cheeks aren’t as bright red as they feel. Across from him, Gladio nods as if he’s been expecting that answer. Silence falls between them in the wake; not exactly uncomfortable, but Prompto is caught wondering if he should say something else, or if he’s already gotten on the shield’s nerves and is better off keeping his mouth shut. Several minutes - or maybe hours - pass before he finally clears his throat and manages a high-pitched, “How about you?”

Those irresistibly full lips part in a grin. “Me? Yeah, I run. Probably not as fast as you can,” he adds, once again dropping his gaze to Prompto’s calves. “I’m more about endurance training. Y’know, long distance, stuff like that.”

_Great_ , now he’s imagining Gladio’s powerful legs hitting the pavement, every muscle in his body straining with sweat and effort under the heat of the sun. His impressive pecs bouncing in perfect sync with each movement and _shit, he’s supposed to_ not _be staring at those!_

By the time he realizes he hasn’t actually responded, Gladio’s already stepping away from him. Grabbing for the hem of his sweatpants and rolling them down as casually as if getting undressed in a room full of his coworkers is a normal thing to do. Prompto, for one, certainly isn’t prepared for it, and his blue eyes go round as he watches the layer peel away - revealing a pair of Crownsguard issue shorts underneath.

_No._ Calling them “shorts” would be an affront to decent, hard-working clothing everywhere. What Gladio is wearing is one modern step up from a loincloth; tight, black fabric that hugs low at his hips, around the very tops of his thighs, and leaves even less to the imagination in between. If not for the large _C_ and _G_ embroidered on the hem, Prompto could have easily mistaken them for underwear - and skimpy ones at that.

Suddenly, he can’t remember how to breathe.

If Gladio notices the way he’s staring, he’s gracious enough not to point it out. Instead, he grabs a small towel out of the pocket of his sweatpants ( _gods_ , it should be illegal to look like that while bending over) and wipes the sweat from his neck and chest. “Sorry, it’s hotter than Ravatogh in here. Mind if I work on my stretches while we wait for Noct?”

_Mind?_ Is that a serious question? It’s a damn good thing Gladio doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, because Prompto’s completely forgotten how to form words or even move his lips. In fact, he’s forgotten how to do anything but stare, red-faced and light-headed, at the very distinct bulge in the front of those shorts.

Gladio’s thighs spread as he lowers himself to the floor, and Prompto thinks he might actually, legit die.

There’s no telling how much time passes before Noct gets back from the locker rooms, his still-packaged uniform folded over one arm. He takes one look at his friends - Gladio with his legs stretched out to either side in a perfect split, and Prompto with his school bag covering his lap and his eyes glued on the sight of pert ass cheeks - and just barely manages to keep from howling with laughter.

The obnoxious smirk he’s wearing is, of course, a different story. “Hey, guys, I’m back,” he announces, walking right up beside Prompto and following his gaze to the barely-covered backside of his shield. “Sheesh, Gladio. Think those shorts could get any shorter?”

“ _Ha, ha_ , Princess. They’re practical, if you gotta know.” He arches his back, muscles and ass cheeks clenching, in order to shoot Noct a dark grin. “Looking good in ‘em is just a bonus.”

That’s it, Prompto is _done._ He’s starting to feel faint, and reaches over to clutch at his friend’s arm before he can lose his balance. Noct, in all his teenage wisdom, sees an opportunity to...help.

“Hey, gimme your phone,” he whispers, and has his hand in Prompto’s back pocket the second the words leave his mouth. The phone is out, he’s swiping in the passcode, and neither of the other two see what’s coming in time.

“Smile for the camera, Mr. Crownsguard. This one’s going in the calendar.”

_No! Noct, what are you--?!_

Gladio turns in time to catch Noct imitate the first click of a shutter. “Really?” he laughs. “Are you twelve?” And yet, much to Prompto’s surprise (and secret delight), he _actually goes for it._ Leans forward and makes a show of jutting out that perfect, sculpted ass. Slowly brings his thighs closed behind him, squeezing his glutes together until his not-quite-shorts are all but swallowed up in the crack between his cheeks. Pushes his upper body off the floor and lets his back curve with him, each and every muscle popping with effort, but the effect is staggeringly good.

While Noct clicks away with the camera phone, Prompto has given up trying to breathe, to think, to will himself somewhere else. _This_ is his life now - staring at Gladio’s body while his insides burn with the fire of a thousand suns, and sweat beads down the back of his neck; raking his gaze over dark skin, inked and calloused with training, while his pants grow tighter and his toes curl inside his sneakers.

This might also be how he dies. But if that’s the case, he hopes Noct at least has the decency _not_ to tell everyone he died with a raging boner.

Movement suddenly breaks his train of thought - Gladio, still laughing, swats the prince away from him, and then Noct is tossing the phone through the air. Prompto’s reflexes are the only thing that keep it from shattering on the ground; he fumbles, grabs it again, clutches it tight to his chest in time to hear a rumbling, “ _Those better not go on Instamog._ ”

Gladio’s looking at him - _him!_ \- as he speaks, and for a moment Prompto can only stammer ineloquently in reply. _Of course not!_ He would never! In fact, he’ll delete them to prove it! And anyway, this is all Noct’s fault - he’s technically not even an accomplice!

But his supposed ‘best friend’ once again seems to be taking joy in his humiliation. “Nah,” he grins, and nudges Prompto in the side. “Those are for the _private collection_.”

_D...dude!!!!_

“Anyway, I got what I came for. We’ve got better stuff to be doing, right Prom?”

He wonders, briefly, if murdering Noct for this would even be considered treason.

“See ya tomorrow, Gladio.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget your homework again, or Iggy’s gonna have a fit.” 

“Already took care of it,” Noct lies. He waves his hand, using the other to twirl Prompto around and half-push, half-drag him out of the dojo. It takes considerably longer for the blond’s thoughts to catch up with them; they’ve already reached the hallway by the time he finds his voice again to speak.

“ _Dude!_ ” comes the predictable high-pitched whine. “What was that?”

“The homework? It’s cool. Specs is cute when he’s mad.”

“No! I mean what the _hell_ are you trying to do to me?!”

Noct shrugs. “Uh, help you out? You can thank me for those pics later, by the way.”

“What? I--!” Suddenly, the phone in his hands weighs with more than just guilt; that's the weight of realization, and the knowledge that _Noct knows_ . Still, Prompto fights back the heat rising to his cheeks in order to shoot him an obstinate glare. "W-what makes you think I’d want these photos, anyway? Gladio is _your_ friend."

The prince merely lifts an eyebrow mid-step, smooth enough to make Ignis proud. “Yeah, but I’ve never looked at his ass like that.”

There’s nothing Prompto can say. He snaps his mouth shut and follows after Noct down the hall, face burning and fingers clenched tight around his phone. Trying - and failing - not to think about all the ways he can put those photos to use once he’s by himself again.

After all, embarrassed as he is he has no intention of actually deleting them.

* * *

 

The house is quiet; his parents are working late, as usual, and he’s got the rest of the night to himself. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Prompto skips dinner and heads straight upstairs to his bedroom instead. Drops his school bag and jacket just inside the door, followed quickly by his tie, his belt, and finally his pants before he’s climbing into bed, phone in hand. Everything he needs is already in the nightstand: tissues, lotion, and even a small vibrator he ordered online. _That_ one he sets aside for now - he’s pretty sure the pics will be enough.

As it turns out, Noct is a better photographer than he would have expected. Some of the shots are blurry, sure, or out of focus with the framing all wrong. But he took so many of them that a few duds don't even matter. Prompto scrolls through, every inch of his body heating up as he recalls the shape, the glory, the _firmness_ of Gladio’s body, immortalized forever on his screen.

“ _Gods,”_ he breathes softly when he reaches the second to last pic. It was an accident, most likely; Noct lowering the camera just as Gladio turned to swat him away. But it’s _perfect_ \- catches Gladio’s eyes, that grin, the dark lines of his tattoos running all the way down his shoulder blades to his lower back; the twist of his hip mid-turn, accentuating the tightness of his Crownsguard-issue shorts both in the back _and_ the front.

Prompto isn't sure which of the two has hom shoving his hand inside his own boxers faster. He already knew, of course, that Gladio has an ass worthy of being carved in marble and shown off in a gallery. But his dick, too? It doesn't surprise him exactly, as he zooms in on the unmistakable bulge there in those dark grey shorts. Large, thick, it suits a guy with such an impressive…well, _everything else._ Yet it does seem somehow unfair. After all, how is anyone supposed to resist him?

They aren’t, is the simple answer, and Prompto fists his hand tighter around his cock. Strokes his thumb across the head as his hips jolt, the pleasure already sinking in like a bullet to the brain. _It’s so unfair_ , he moans into the empty air of his bedroom. It’s unfair how much power Gladio has over him, how _amazing_ it feels to touch himself, imagining large, calloused hands in place of his own. Unfair how even through half-lidded eyes, the photo on his screen seems to suck him in, swallow him up until he can see nothing else. _Gladio’s ass, firm beneath his fingertips. Hard, chiseled cheeks gliding over his dick, squeezing him as his mind slips a little more._

__

“Fuck, Gladdy.” The breath is quieter this time, secret despite the fact that there’s no one around to hear. “Feels so good.” Prompto’s head falls back, the image of Gladio’s body following him behind closed eyelids. _Please, please, I want it so bad, let me touch you._

He’s mid-groan when a different sound breaks through the air. A chime, high-pitched and coming from his left hand where a blinking light on his phone informs him he’s gotten a text. _Probably Noct_ , he thinks distantly, yet on sheer reflex swipes the notification on the screen anyway.

He doesn’t recognize the number _._ Not Noct, then, and all it says is ‘ _hey_ ,’ which is kinda weird, and kinda creepy. Prompto chucks it up to a wrong number and gets back to work.

The phone chimes again just as he’s imagining his cock disappear between full, dark lips. Enough to ruin the otherwise perfect moment, and leave Prompto glaring as he swipes the chat again to give the asshole a piece of his mind.

 

> **_hey_ **
> 
> **_it’s gladio_ **
> 
> **_got your number from noct hope thats cool_ **

The third message arrives while his eyes are scanning the screen in disbelief. ...Gladio? Is texting _him?_ This has to be some kind of joke, right? It’s probably just Noct, hoping to catch him red-handed (literally) using the pics he snapped. It’s definitely, most certainly not real.

 

> _uh hey whats up_

He hopes to the Six that the words don’t read too casual _or_ too suspicious. Last thing he needs is to have Noct calling him instead when he’s so obviously out of breath.

 

> **_not much u?_ **
> 
> _just hangin out, playing some video games_

Okay, that was probably a stupid angle - if it really is Noct, he’ll know right away that he’s not online. _Shit_. Prompto knocks over his bottle of lotion in his scramble to grab his controller and sign on before his friend can catch him in his lie.

 

> **_thats cool_ **
> 
> **_u check out those pix yet?_ **

Ah- _ha!_ He knew it! Who else but the Prince of Predictability would go so obviously straight to the point? He isn’t even trying to be subtle, which is a game two can play at.

 

> _wouldnt you like to know ;)_

Prompto smirks, and settles back into the pillow to wait for Noct to take the bait. Lazily, he drags his hand up the length of his cock again, bringing himself back to full hardness while he watches the screen.

 

> **_shit yeah i do ;) i posed just 4 u chocobo_ **
> 
> **_tell me - what angle do u like best?_ **

Thin fingers falter just over the keyboard; something doesn’t feel right. Prompto’s heart starts to beat faster, his throat going drier by the second. Why would Noct call him ‘chocobo’? Would he really remember that’s what Gladio jokingly called him the first time they met? He’s not exactly one for details, not like Prompto is. And why would he care about angles?

Tentatively, he types:

 

> _All of em?_
> 
> **_come on u can do better_ **
> 
> **_need a refresher?_ **

Considering he’s got Gladio’s bulge still zoomed in on his screen, he thinks he’s probably good without one. But before he can say so, his phone chimes again and this time... _it’s a photo_.

A _very fucking realistic photo_ of Gladio from the chest down (he’d recognize those abs anywhere), still wearing the same Crownsguard shorts he had on that afternoon. His thighs are spread atop a light grey blanket (his bed?) and he’s got one hand between them, squeezing subtly at the bulge there.

Prompto sucks in a breath, hot and arid as the sudden desert-like state of his throat. _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck_ . Either Noct is going to unprecedented lengths to actually kill him, or this isn’t a prank at all. But why would the _real_ Gladio be sending all this...to _him_?

Apparently, he spends too much time overreacting instead of actually replying, because the next message he receives is:

 

> **_guess i maybe read this wrong?_ **

What? _Oh!_ Blue eyes blink as Prompto’s brain catches up with the rest of him, and he hastily types out a response.

 

> _no no sorry i was um_
> 
> _overwhelmed_
> 
> _...wdym ‘read this wrong’...?_
> 
> **_well i noticed u checking me out today_ **
> 
> **_thought yk maybe u were into me too_ **

Too? _TOO?_ If he ever figures out how to breathe again, Prompto’s going to laugh himself right into the Beyond because it almost sounds like Gladio is saying…?

 

> _you think maybe i could get another picture?_
> 
> _just uh yknow to make sure this isnt a dream_

He can almost hear Gladio chuckling, that deep, playful laugh he makes when he’s flattered and cocky all at once. It gets Prompto’s heart fluttering, most of all because he’s pretty sure if this backfires he’s going to die of embarrassment. But then his phone chimes and he’s opening Gladio’s latest masterpiece, and in that instant all inhibitions fly out the window.

It’s dark, darker than the first shot, but the contrast helps to accentuate the dips and edges of every powerful muscle in his lower body; his Crownsguard shorts blend in with the shadows, except where they’ve been tugged down just the tiniest bit; Gladio’s hand is in still in the frame, though this time it’s mostly hidden inside said shorts - curled very obviously around his half-hard (and even larger than expected) cock, which peeks out just enough from the waist band to have Prompto throbbing in sympathy.

“ _Oh em gee,_ ” he hisses aloud at the sight of it. He isn’t sure whether _salivating_ is a proper reaction to a photo like this, but his body seems to have developed a mind of its own. Even his hips are moving automatically, rocking up into his hand for more of the friction that’s driving him insane.

His phone chimes again.

 

> **_ur turn chocobo ;)_ **

Prompto’s taken a ton of selfies, of course. Not that he’s vain or anything, but usually in about a hundred shots he can pick out one or two that are halfway decent. But he’s never taken a shot _quite like this before_ \- boxers around his knees, thighs spread wide, and his dick jutting up into his fist while he tries to figure out the angle. It takes a few tries (and some playing around with filters) but at last he’s sucking in a breath, hitting _‘send’..._

...And instantly contemplating throwing his phone as far across the room as he possibly can.

_This is so stupid! What am I doing, this is so totally a joke, and now I have to leave town, change my name, start a new life in somewhere else because --_

 

> **_oh fuck prom thats hot_ **
> 
> **_fuck i wanna get my mouth on that_ **

Nothing makes sense anymore. This is his life now...and he thinks he might be okay with that.

 

> _i was um kinda thinkin the same thing dude_
> 
> _(o////o  )_
> 
> **_yeah? i wanna find out how u taste bby_ **

_That one_ goes right to the base of Prompto’s dick. He lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, squeezing himself tighter as if he can actually feel the heat and pressure of Gladio’s mouth around his flesh. Dream or not, this is _hot_ \- sexting with his crush, touching himself and knowing Gladio is doing the same thing on the other end of the chat. And fuck it, he might as well go for it at this point because what has he got to lose? Worst case scenario, it turns out to be a joke; but at least he can die knowing he's had the hottest orgasm of his young life.

He snaps another shot of himself then. Teeth raking over his bottom lip, cheeks flushed with exertion, his cock even more exposed and visibly leaking from the tip in his need. _Taste me all you want_ , he types, and sends that along with the photo as his fist flies faster over his length.

The last thing he expects is a phone call. He answers tentatively, wishes he wasn't quite so breathless when he stammers out a nervous, "H-hello?"

"Hey, chocobo." There's no mistaking the baritone of that voice, cocky yet playful, and irresistibly sexy. "Hope you don't mind. It was getting hard to type with one hand."

Prompto shudders. Let’s his eyes fall closed as his imagination fills in the gaps for him. _Gladio fucking up into his fist, powerful thighs tensing, his dark eyebrows drawn into a knot in pleasure._ "Y-yeah, it's cool. _Very_ cool."

A laugh rumbles through the speaker pressed to his ear. "Good to hear it, baby. You gonna show me what you sound like when you cum for me?"

"O _-ooh._ " Hips rolling, Prompto nearly drops the phone from his grip as pleasure ripples through him. " _Mmm_ , I want that."

"You want me to make you cum?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how you want it."

"Um. Your mouth. A-and maybe your fing--" He catches himself just in time, face flaring hot with embarrassment.

Gladio, however, doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah? Suck you off, play with your ass a little? I bet you're so cute, and so hot inside."

_Fuuuck,_ if he keeps this up much longer, Prompto’s liable to bust all over the bed. "Do…do you wanna, um…?"

" _Hmm?_ "

He can't believe he's about to say this. _Him,_ the virginiest virgin to ever make it through high school. If he has to point the blame, he guess it probably has something to do with that insanely nice bulge in those insanely tight shorts. "Gladio? D’you wanna fuck me?"

There's a pause. He can hear something on the other end of the line - shuffling, movement. Groaning, too, and something deep in the shield’s throat that sounds suspiciously like his name. " _Gods_ , Prom, fuck yeah I wanna fuck you. _Fuck._ " More groaning, more movement.

Blue eyes blink slowly. "Um. What are you doing?"

"Just…a sec." The sounds grow closer for a minute, then further away again. Prompto’s phone chimes with a new notification, and he glances at the screen to see Gladio’s sent another pic.

He's on his knees now, shorts gone, and beneath his hips is a rolled up pillow. His thick cock is pressed between it and his own lower stomach, leaking as much as Prompto’s with precum, and desperately red. " _Oh, Six,_ " the blond gasps, and quickly replaces the phone to his ear. "Am I allowed to wish I was that pillow?"

Gladio’s chuckle is strained this time, breathless. "I’m wishing this pillow was you, too. _Fuck_ , I want you so bad, Prom."

He can picture it easily: _broad hips rocking down in a perfect rhythm, the wet head of Gladio’s dick appearing, disappearing, appearing again as he slides it against the yielding pillow._ And he quickly pictures himself in its place. How would it feel to have Gladio pushing into him like that? To be stretched open wide on his cock and pinned under the weight of his body?

Prompto’s reaching for the lotion again before he even realizes it. Whines as he kicks his legs free of his boxers, and reaches under himself to rub the slick into his cleft. " _Gods, gods,_ " he hisses into the phone, caught halfway between fantasy and the first finger pushing into him. " _Ooooh, yeah._ "

"Fuck…wanna see your face, baby," Gladio pants in his ear. "Wanna see you enjoy this."

There's no way he can stop for a selfie now, not with both his hands full and his body trembling with pleasure. So he shudders and moans louder, hoping Gladio can hear him, picture him, _feel him_ in all the same ways. "Gladdy." His head drops back, blond hair splaying out across the pillow. "’s so good."

" _Prom. Shit._ I gotta…put you on speaker." More shuffling noises, and Prompto takes the opportunity to wedge his own phone between his ear and his shoulder, giving himself more room to work. "Fuck baby, don't stop talking. You sound so damn sexy."

" _A-aah, Gladio!_ "

"Yeah. Yeah, fuck, Prom, gotta… _faster_ …!"

Prompto gasps as he pushes his second finger inside to join the first. His cock is throbbing in his other fist now, half-neglected in his singular focus; deeper, deeper, pulling out and thrusting in again to match the pace of Gladio’s panting breaths.

" _Moan…for me._ "

He does. Again and again and again, unable to hold back as the coiling pressure inside him builds.   _Too much_ , he thinks. _Too much, and too perfect;_ he’s powerless to the pleasure tearing through him like so many bolts of electricity. "Gladdy, I…I'm gonna--!" is all he manages to choke out before it hits him. HIps arch off the bed and his fingers squeeze around his dick tight, cutting off the cry that’s forced its way out of his throat. Sticky heat spills over his fingers, his stomach, runs down to pool between his legs while the world continues to spin around him.

In the passion of the moment, his phone’s fallen somewhere out of reach. Prompto fumbles for it, nudges it closer with his elbow, and all but collapses on top of it as he tries to catch his breath. “Gods _damn,_ Prom,” he hears Gladio groan. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

The blond laughs airly. “Next time. Your turn.”

It doesn’t take long. A few rough, powerful grunts and the Gladio’s tone is changing, growing more strained until with a telltale _creak_ of his mattress he’s coming, too. Prompto waits for the dust to settle - and for Gladio to release a shuddering sigh into the phone - before curling up next to it and smiling sleepily.

“Nice,” he laughs, and hears Gladio hum deeply in reply.

They stay that way for several long moments, neither one speaking and yet the silence isn’t uncomfortable. If Prompto closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the heat of Gladio’s skin against his. The rise and fall of that broad chest beneath him, and lips brushing his hair. It’s sappy. It’s probably stupid. But it brings a glow to his face all the same.

“You still awake, chocobo?”

Prompto nods. Realizes with a start that Gladio can’t actually see him, and clears his throat into the phone. “Y-yeah, I’m here.”

“Thanks. For doing this with me. It was great.”

“Oh. Um, sure dude. I had fun, too….”

“You doing anything tomorrow? Y’know, like, plans?”

Surprised, he blinks blue eyes open wide. _Plans?_ Is Gladio trying to ask him if he…? “U-uh, no. No, I’m totally free.”

“Cool, ‘cause I was wondering if you wanted to come over. Or something.” On the other end of the line, Gladio clears his throat, as well. For all the confidence he had a few minutes ago, he suddenly sounds as nervous as the butterflies dancing in Prompto’s stomach. “I want to see you again, is what I’m trying to say.”

_Oh. Okay. then._ “I want to see you, too,” he blurts out. “A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Awesome.” The grin in Gladio’s voice is unmistakable. “Then, uh. See ya tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yeah. Um, Gladio?”

“Yeah, Prom?”

“You think...maybe you can wear those shorts tomorrow?”

A pause. “For you, baby?” he asks, and Prompto feels his cheeks go warm with the promise there. “ _Anything_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find both [me](https://lhugbereth.tumblr.com/) and [Jill](https://jilldrawblog.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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